


work of art

by whistlingwindtree



Series: The Umbrella Academy (Diego and Eudora) [6]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Artist Diego Hargreeves, F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-21 06:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whistlingwindtree/pseuds/whistlingwindtree
Summary: Diego is an artist at heart but forgets it to please Reginald. When he meets Eudora, he's inspired again.





	work of art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CricketScribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CricketScribbles/gifts).



> Inspired by cricket-scribbles. Thank you m'dear!

 As a Hargreeves, art lessons were par for the course, and young Diego took to them like a duckling to water.

There, he could be silent for the entire session and he'd use his charcoal pencils to sketch rows upon rows of words, practicing them in his mind.

But as he'd come to understand,  all good things came to an end.

"Art is a useless pursuit, Number Two," Reginald declared one morning. "You have actual talent. Unlike Number Seven." He peered through his monocle at Diego, ignoring Vanya who'd turned white as a sheet. "Do you want to become useless, boy?"

"N- no, Father."

A harsh fist slamming to the table made everyone jump, and even Grace's smile dimmed.

"No, Monocle," Diego hastily amended, knowing his father needed to be appeased or everyone else would feel his wrath. "I want to be useful. For y-you."

Satisfied, Reginald went back to his tea and ignored everyone but Number One for the rest of breakfast.

* * *

 

Living in that mansion? It was a warzone.

And when Five disobeyed and disappeared, it got worse but then Ben died and Diego understood how his charcoal was made, under an infinite amount of pressure till the only thing that remained, was charred blackness. 

As soon as he could, Diego left.

* * *

_**The New York Police Academy, months later** _

 

When Eudora Patch strutted into his first class at the Police Academy, Diego couldn't help but notice the elegant lines of her body. Her long hair was pulled tightly back showing a classically pretty face but her determined look made his breath catch.

That woman there? She was the one for him.

He scrambled up from his seat at the back and sprinted to the empty chair next to her. (Of course, she'd be right at the front.)

“Hope you weren’t saving this seat for anyone,” he said, as he piled his stuff on the desk.

Her eyes narrowed and Diego smirked. He'd had a lifetime of making recalcitrant siblings smile, so this would be a welcome challenge. Ripping out a page from his notebook, he picked up a pen and began to draw. His fingers fumbled with the first few lines, and he wondered if he’d forgotten how. 

Did he leave that skill back at the Mansion because it wasn’t really his? Was his talent owned by Reginald, just like he was? 

“You don’t have permission to sketch me.” Patch interrupted his musings, though she seemed fascinated with the rough drawing.

Diego's pen froze in midair.

It never occurred to him to ask for permission.

Was he more like Reginald than he thought?

“S-sorry,” he began. “I didn’t mean to-”

Just then Instructor Lupo entered. He was an amiable-looking man with salt and pepper hair,  and when he greeted the class with a booming voice, all classroom chatter ceased. Patch dutifully took out her notebook, and realizing he was now being ignored, Diego sketched some more. 

Now Diego wanted everyone to like him, wanted to be the best in the class, and though it was only the first day, soon he and Patch had a friendly rivalry going. 

Too bad she’d never know the _real_ him. 

That evening, he stopped at an art supply store and using the emergency credit card from Pogo,  he splurged on sketchpads giant and small, colored pencils,  charcoal, and erasers.

And late into the night, he sketched page after page of Patch's silhouette.

* * *

_**Weeks later** _

Patch decided to put her foot down after she caught a glimpse of Diego's sketchpad.

There was her visage, etched in charcoal with the intimacy that only a lover should have. She’d never had one, and what she didn’t need was some rich, pretty boy playing with her.

“I don’t care how rich you are, or what ‘abilities’ you have.” Eudora used air quotes. “Or who your damned father is.”  She pinned Diego with a glare. “ _Stop sketching me_.” Diego got under her skin like no other person. He was too loud, too emotional, and everything she wished she could be.

 "I-" 

"And stop pretending you can't speak," Patch hissed. "I know you can. I hear you everywhere."

"Been looking out for me, eh?"

Patch faltered, unsure if he was making fun of her, or being honest. "Just _stop,_ okay? I'm not pretty."

Diego frowned, unsure why the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen thought she wasn't. 

But what did he know?

* * *

 

The New York Police Academy had a six month training period, and Eudora, who'd gotten her Bachelors at nineteen, was ranked first in class, but the victory was hollow.

"Diego?" She called out. "You good?" It was Graduation Day, and they were on the rooftop of the City Building.

"Yeah." Diego was hunched over, his feet swinging off the rooftop. "All good, Patch."

"Lie to everyone else but me." Eudora stalked over to him. They'd been comrades over the last six months, and she needed him to be honest with her. "What's up?"

"Just thought for once I'd be number one, you know?" Diego muttered.

Eudora's steps faltered. Diego was a loudmouth, but he was always truthful.

"You're a pain, but you're my number one-" she began. 

Diego turned around and scowled. "When have you ever even _liked_ me?"

"Have you not been sketching me every day for the last six months?" She reached out and jabbed his chest. "You think I just let anyone do that?"'

"Suppose you're wrong. Suppose I'm not worth _anything._ "

Eudora stilled, realizing for the first time she was seeing the real Diego. "You're worth more than you know." She rubbed his shoulder. "Graduation is in fifteen minutes."

"Anyone from my family showed up?" 

Her hand stilled. "No."

But she pulled him up, shook him off,  and brought him to the ceremony anyway.

* * *

 

Diego and Patch were rookies when she left a folded paper in his locker.

_Make fun of me and I swear, you're dead._

Diego snorted as he opened it but then froze. There was a sketch of his face, in a shaky hand, and while the features were off, there was his warm eyes and a wide smile. He picked up his cell and called her. (She was on speed dial now). 

"This isn't me," he said as soon as she answered.

"I'm not as great an artist as you-"

"I'm not that happy," Diego growled. "Or _soft_."

"To me, you are." Patch interrupted. "I wish I could be like you."

"Wanna have dinner with me?" Diego blurted.

There was a pause then a soft laugh. "Yeah. But you're cooking."

* * *

 

And the next time Diego sketched Eudora, she was naked in his tiny room, giggling under the covers.

"I love you," he murmured, as his hands moved quickly. "You don't have to say anything-"

Eudora beamed. "I love you, too." She pulled the covers up to her neck before he got any ideas.  "You're a work of art, you know that?"

Diego remembered all the names he'd been called by Reginald and sniffed.  "Suppose I-"

Eudora scrambled up and cupped his face in her hands. "I love you," She kissed him gently, deeply. And soon Diego's charcoal was forgotten, as he gave himself to Eudora, knowing that she was the real work of art. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome!


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